Dancing Naked in Dobby's Tea Cozy
by FancyFreeThinker101
Summary: In the midst of misery, with a dead brother, a broken family, and a head full of guilt, Percy Weasley never expected to fall in love. Particularly not with that strange, slightly-too-familiar Muggle, Audrey... A fiction about a romance we as a fandom know nothing about. Post DH, before Epilogue.
1. Chapter 1

_AN: This will be a multi-chapter fic; I'm not sure quite how long it will go on. Well, as you can see, this is a fiction about the relationship of Percy and Audrey-well, hope _

On a rainy street somewhere in London, nobody bothered to look at one another.

People hurried by, never bothering to let their eyes deviate from the path straight ahead of them, never even wasting the time it took to smile.

So nobody noticed a tall, thin young man who walked smartly through the rain, a long khaki coat covering him from the neck downwards. Nobody bothered to apologize for the mud they spattered on his horn rimmed glasses as they hurried by him, nobody cared enough to smile or inquire with concern if he was feeling quite well.

For the young man with the khaki coat and the horn rimmed glasses looked absolutely miserable.

He continued on his way for quite some time, holding a large, khaki, scrupulously clean (excepting the wetness, which could not be helped) umbrella to shield him from the pelting rain, seeming intent upon his destination, whatever it was.

As it happened, he didn't have one; for perhaps the first time in his life, Percy Weasley had no idea where he was going.

It was, for him, an almost frightening experience. Nevertheless, he kept going, walking briskly down street after wet, crowded street, murmuring clockwork "Excuse me"s to those he jostled—though they never seemed to return the favor—and keeping his eyes straight ahead of him. At last, he seemed to come to the realization that he couldn't continue in this way forever, and came to a stop before a small, dingy, non-descript little bar.

For a moment, he just stood there, expression unreadable as he looked over it, disdain tinting the misery on his pale, precise face. At last, he decided in favor of the unprepossessing place, and pushed open the door, sighing.

-88888—

The interior of this place was very much like the exterior—small, grimy, and not worthy of description, Looking about with plain distaste, Percy divested himself of his coat and took a seat on a ragged stool by the bar, not bothering to greet the mustached barman or the bleary-eyed customers.

The barman, not able to sense where and when he wasn't wanted, tried to strike up a conversation.

"Hey, mate, wha'll it be, hm?"

Percy Weasley scanned the half-erased blackboard erected behind the counter, trying to find something that sounded somewhat familiar. Unfortunately, nothing of that nature presented itself; wrinkling his nose, he said, after due thought:

"A beer, please."

"One beer, then. Alright, then, just a moment," promised the man, and sure enough, within a minute the beverage was procured and set, dirty glass and all, before the disapproving face of Percival Weasley.

Good gracious; what a scandalous waste of his funds. Taking some crisp Muggle bills from his wallet (kept there just in case; it always behooved one to be prepared), he paid the man and hoped fervently to be left in peace.

His hopes were in vain.

"Well, fella, 'ow's the missus?" inquired the repugnant proprietor of the establishment, grinning and displaying to Percy a mouthful of yellowed, crooked teeth.

There were a great many people in the world with whom Percy Weasley did not wish to associate, and Muggle barmen, particularly those with poor dental hygiene and foul mustaches, were at the top of the list.

"I don't know to whom you refer," he said coolly, taking a very small sip of his drink. He made a face; good God, it was dreadful.

"Oh, c'mon, now, a bacheldore, are you?" said the barman, displaying to Percy, by dint of sundry jocose winks, that he was inclined to disbelieve him. "Well, no ma'er, man, lots of fillies round 'ere, eh?"

And the man waved a hand around to display to Percy the fine quality of his wares—that is, the females seated within the establishment. Unimpressed, and not particularly interested—imagine him with a Muggle woman!—Percy nodded curtly, and said nothing.

Still, the barman persisted.

"Now, if yer lonely, got a girl round 'ere who could cheer you up…Audrey's right friendly, she is. Oi! Audrey!"

At the sound of her name, the girl, the Audrey girl, appeared, and immediately Percy's frown of disapproval deepened.

Audrey, if that was really her name, was a girl, but in Percy's opinion, only by the loosest sense of the word; the word _girl_ conjured up images of something soft and sweet and feminine, following the rules of propriety and decorous deportment. The Audrey girl was a slight, slouchy sort of female, wearing a pair of scuffed red trainers with untied laces and a skirt rather too short for Percy's standards of decency. Her hair was undone, and, at the moment, soaking wet, a few inches past her chin, and black. All in all, she was the sort of girl Percy would have probably kept a conspicuous berth away from had he met her on the street, and definitely not the sort he wanted to "cheer him up", particularly now, when he wanted to be alone with his self pity.

"That's quite all right," he said firmly, when the girl seemed about to sit on the stool beside him. "I'm fine, thank you."

"Oh, look 'ere, e's bashful!" chuckled the man, delighted with what he considered the beginnings of a successful venture in match-making. "Come on, Audrey, come sit down and talk to this bloke; 'e looks like he needs a bit of 'emale comp'ny."

"I'll do my best," said Audrey, smiling at him. He returned the smile rather tightly, wishing fervently that she and the rest of the world would go away.

"Hello," she said, and he was relieved to find that she sounded at least marginally more intelligent than her companions. "Who would you be?"

Setting down his repulsive beer and deciding he may as well be civil, he said, still stiffly:

"My name is Percival Weasley. May I ask yours?"

She seemed to be struggling with a smile at his formal tone; holding out her hand, she said, in a very serious voice:

"Good evening, Mr. Weasley. My name is Audrey. Audrey Hepburn."

"Ah," he said, unable to rid himself of the uncomfortable sensation that she was mocking him. "Good evening, Miss Hepburn."

At this she burst into an inexplicable fit of giggles, and for several minutes just laughed into her hand, while he stared at her, bewildered and wondering whether she was quite mad…

"I'm sorry," she said after a moment, hiccoughing. "I-I—well, you looked so funny and serious. Sorry. My name isn't Audrey Hepburn, of course."

"Oh," he said, quite out of his element and not having the faintest idea who Audrey Hepburn was or why her name should produce such merriment. She seemed to sense his confusion; with laughing eyes she said:

"You haven't got any idea what I'm talking about, have you?"

"I'm afraid not," he said, a trifle miffed that this strange, scruffy Muggle had cause to laugh at him. If there was one sensation that Percy did not appreciate, it was being laughed at.

She seemed startled.

"Really? You've really never heard of her? The girl from _Breakfast at Tiffany's_?"

Utterly bewildered by now, the only answer that Percy could manage was:

"Who's Tiffany?"

She laughed again; she seemed to find his confusion quite funny.

"Sorry—it's just—Lord, I dunno anyone who hasn't heard of Audrey Hepburn. Anyway, my name is Audrey Bentsworth. Are you from around here, then?"

"I live nearby," he said, and took rather a long draught from his glass. Even inebriation would be a blessing at this point.

"Oh? So do I; funny I never saw you before," she said, seeming quite at her ease. He considered, for a moment, telling her that it wasn't funny at all, seeing as he inhabited a world which coexisted with, but was quite independent from her own…

"Strange," he said, somewhat coldly. "Well, I think I'll be going, Miss Bentsworth. It was a pleasure to meet you."

There was no peace and pity-wallowing to be found there; he hadn't come to chat with a stranger. Especially a stranger as unkempt and peculiar as Audrey.

Audrey beamed, as if the compliment had been sincere, rather than a habitually polite fabrication, and waved.

"Bye, then! See you soon, yeah?"

Murmuring a noncommittal "We might", he nodded brusquely to both Audrey and the grinning barman—and left.


	2. Chapter 2

_AN: Hello, hope you enjoyed chapter one! Here's the next bit, hope you like. Also, thanks to SilverTortoise for reviewing, and to several people for following! As always, none of these people are mine, not even Audrey, though the interpretation might be mine-I doubt JK wants it. Anyway, reviews are great, really great, so enjoy!_

Percy Weasley, ex-prat, (this was the title George had half-heartedly assigned him after the War), resided in a small flat, rather sparse and prim but quite easy on his pocketbook. He had not been to see _them_, his family, since—well, he hadn't been to see them at all. He wasn't sure which emotion of theirs he dreaded more: their anger or their pity. Both, he knew, with a wry smile, were justly earned; he'd rather gone down hill since—since Fred…

He hadn't done it in the usual sense; he didn't let his appearance go to ruin, nor did he lounge about all day in some filthy pub and wallow in grief. His glasses still sparkled in the morning sun, his alcohol consumption was still tasteful and moderate, his vow to be punctual to all appointments remained as of yet unbroken.

The only thing that changed was that his _heart_ wasn't in it.

He no longer beamed with pride when someone—particularly someone important—complimented him on the scrupulously clean state of his robes, or the scarily precise angle at which his glasses were set on his nose. His bows to the Minister—one Kingsley Shacklebolt, for whom he had a great deal of respect—were no longer sweeping the floor. He was no longer begging for more work to do, he no longer dreamed ecstatically of a promotion, of a raise, of prestige.

In short, Percy Weasley, ex-prat, had taken a knock, and taken it hard.

It was an empty existence now, his, with no longer even the appearance of fulfillment to comfort him—he literally seemed to have nothing to live for.

Taking off his coat, he set his umbrella by the door, procured a bottle of fire whiskey, and poured himself a glass.

It was a long time before he got up and went to bed.

-88888—

"Percy!"

Arthur Weasley, balding and tired and bespectacled as ever, smiled rather hesitantly at his son, who seemed none too comfortable with the situation himself.

The very last thing he wasnted was another uncomfortable family confrontation.

"Oh," he said, swallowing and trying to produce a smile. "Hello, Arth—hello, Father."

It was the best he could do; though the unspoken reconciliation gave him more leeway than the previous, curt "Arthur", it felt simply out of place to start with an affectionate "Dad".

Arthur nodded quickly, acknowledging the filial greeting, and said, rather more quickly than usual:

"Look—Percy, err—Molly—that is, Mum's making meatballs tonight, and well—we'd like to see you tonight for supper."

"I-I'm afraid I can't," murmured Percy, trying to look genuinely regretful rather than terrified at the thought. "I-I'm working."

But Mr. Weasley, just as he'd done when Percy was a young boy, saw right through this feeble fabrication, and frowned.

"Percy—please—the War's over. There doesn't have to be any more feuding."

"I'm quite aware," the younger Weasley said, in a much cooler tone than he'd meant to assume. "Rest assured, Father, I _will_ join the family for dinner—when I can."

Percy didn't give his father time to formulate a reply; nodding again, he made a bee-line for his office, face pale and set.

-88888—

He was taking another aimless (the word, particularly in relation to his own doings, was frightening) stroll through the Muggle streets when he heard a strangely familiar female voice call his name.

"Percy! Percy umm…damn, what is it? Percy Wallsley!"

With a sigh, and feeling that he should be rather affronted at this heinous murdering of his name, Percy stopped, and slowly turned around.

There, running up to him, a big grin on her face, was that Audrey girl from the bar. He noted with inward gratitude that her attire was somewhat more decent; although she'd kept the scuffed trainers, she wore blue jeans now, and her hair was no longer in such a tangled disarray. He smiled stiffly.

"Hello, Miss Bentsworth."

"Hallo!" she said, catching her breath now and absently running her thin white fingers through her wind-blown hair. "And call me Audrey, won't you?"

Inwardly, he winced; things were getting entirely too familiar between the two of them as it was. And it wasn't as if he _wanted_ to have anything to do with her…

"Very well then—er—Audrey."

"Good. Can I call you Percy instead of errr…dammit, what's your last name? Sorry, I'm awful with this sort of thing."

Barely suppressing a slight, disapproving frown (the girl swore like a sailor), Percy said:

"Yes, you may. And my last name is Weasley."

"Right!" she said cheerfully, not at all embarrassed at her gaffe. "Percy Weasley. Got it. So, Percy, where were you going?"

To tell the truth, he hadn't been going anywhere; preferring, however, not to share this with his unwanted companion, he lied, glibly:

"To—to the pub."

Immediately after he said this he realized it was a dreadful idea; there was no doubt that the irksome girl would be headed in the very same direction. Sure enough, she brightened, and said, with a widening smile:

"Excellent! Going there myself. Can I walk with you?"

_No_, came the immediate inner reply. _No, definitely not_.

But of course he couldn't say that; former prat or not, he'd been raised to know one could not simply brush people off like that. Even if they were gaudy Muggles.

"Er—certainly," he said, trying to force his mouth to smile. Stubbornly, it refused.

Accordingly, they made for said pub, whilst Percy cursed the impulse that had made him think of such a shoddy, unpleasant place.

"So, er, Miss—Audrey," he said, after a moment. "Have you er—lived long in London?"

It was, he knew a painful start to a conversation—but it was all he had. Not seeming to mind, Audrey replied, with a shrug:

"A while. About 10 years or so. Used to live more in the country when I was a kid; I wish I still did, sometimes. By the way, are you related to a Fred or a George?"

At the mention of his dead brother's name Percy felt that familiar, burning lump come up in his throat…hastily turning away from her, he said, between his teeth:

"Yes, I am. H-how did you become acquainted with them?"

"I see them a lot around here," she replied, oblivious to her companion's pain. "They know some wonderful magic tricks, those two. Very nice, very friendly. Only been seeing one lately, though. Is the other alright?"

"He died," he said, trying his hardest to keep any shaking from his voice. Immediately Audrey was horrified.

"Oh! Oh, I'm so sorry! I-I didn't know—I'm so stupid, I always blunder into things like that! Oh, God, I'm so, so sorry!"

"It's quite alright," he assured her, lying through his teeth. "Please—don't mention it."

At this she suddenly looked at him hard, concern all over her small white face.

"Are you alright?"

"I'm fine," he said, walking all the stiffer in an attempt to prove it. "I assure you, everything is alright."

Yet she had the audacity to not believe him.

"You aren't, and it's not," she said, and he could see that, when she wanted to be, Audrey Bentsworth could be very stubborn. Then, apparently recalling that they were barely casual acquaintances, she blushed and said, in a much softer tone:

"Er—do you want—do you want to talk about it?"

Quite emphatically, he assured her that he did _not_ wish to discuss it, and she nodded.

"A-alright, then. Well, come on," smiling again, in an attempt to lighten the mood, "there's the pub just up ahead, let's go."

And so in they went, she doing her best to be lighthearted and cheerful and he wondering if the horrid day would ever end—and, more to the point, how exactly he was going to get rid of her.


	3. Chapter 3

_AN: Holy crap, it has been AGES since I updated. Sorry about that; I try to do it fairly quickly, but with school and what not I have had VERY little time...again, I apologize. Well, I'll try and update more frequently, and here you are. Enjoy! Oh, and reviews are very very helpful, please!_

As soon as they sat down she began a conversation.

"So, Perce—it's alright if I call you Perce, isn't it?—where do you work?"

Swallowing the impulse to tell her that no, it was _not_ alright, he scanned the board once more in a vain hope that he would find something fit for consumption, and again was forced to think of a lie.

"Er…I work for the minister."

There. That was a nice half-truth. He'd simply have to be careful not to use the Minister's name.

"Oh, wow, really? Is he as dull as he looks?" queried the impudent girl, not seeming at all abashed by her blatant disrespect of an authority figure. At one point Percy would have reprimanded her sharply for such impertinence, and done it in a heartbeat—but now, he found he could barely muster a reproving frown.

"No," he said at last, dully. "Not really."

"My dad always said he hadn't got any imagination," reflected Audrey, almost to herself. More to be polite than anything else, he asked, dutifully:

"Where does your father work?"

Immediately she flushed and bit her lip, staring hard at the ground. When she spoke, her voice was the softest he'd ever heard it, and strangely appealing.

"He's dead."

"Oh."

Now it was his turn to be embarrassed by his blunder; trying vainly to be comforting, he awkwardly patted her shoulder and stammered:

"I-I'm sorry."

"It's alright," she said, still quietly and still not looking at him. "Or—well—it's getting better. Mum was right—time helps."

"Your mother," he said, grasping desperately at the topic change and yet at the same time wary of repeating his gaffe, "how-how is-?"

"Mum's fine," she told him, with a rather hard smile. "She's been wonderful, Mum has…she gets it, you know. How—how bad it can be."

There seemed to be nothing for him to say; he was truly awful at talking to women.

"I see."

There was another, horribly awkward silence; finally, in a rather dreamy voice, she said:

"You don't talk much, do you?"

"I-I don't know," he replied, startled by her forward remark. Good heavens. "I never thought about it."

"That's alright, it's not a bad thing," she said, smiling in a way that would have been reassuring had she herself not been so utterly mad-looking. "I don't mind; I talk too much myself, people say. Mum always said…"

He was slightly dazed as she launched forth on some story which might have been rather amusing had he not been so distracted…

Abruptly, in the middle, she stopped, and cocked her head, looking at him contemplatively.

Rather self conscious at her blatant perusal, he raised his eyebrows.

"Is something the matter?"

"No, no, not at all," she said, shrugging. "You just look miserable. I was wondering why."

"I'm fine," he assured her a tad stiffly, turning away from her; those big bluish eyes of hers gave him an uneasy feeling, as if he were being x-rayed…

"You don't look too fine," she told him, and she seemed grave, concerned. "Is there anything you want to talk about?"

Oh, for God's sake; she was acting like those absurd Muggle psychiatrists he'd heard of, the ones who sat all day and talked to people on sofas.

"I am quite certain, thank you, Miss—Audrey."

Evidently deciding the subject was not open for debate, she nodded, brow still somewhat furrowed, and went on, in a slow, halting, rather embarrassed voice:

"So—er—where'd you grow up?"

His first impulse, the one embedded from years of political ambition, from wanting to rise above, was to say "a shack"—but, somehow, he didn't. Ever since—ever since Fred—he hadn't been able to look at his childhood home with such contempt anymore. It seemed disrespectful, almost as if he were dishonoring Fred himself…

_You've dishonored the family enough as it is…leave it at that…_

"A house," he said simply, hating his voice for sounding tight. "Out of the way."

"Oh, you grew up sort of rurally too?" Her eyes were brightening, as if the idea was marvelous. "Did you have a farm?"

"Not quite," he said, rather bitterly recalling how he'd so often bemoaned how close the two were…yet this Audrey girl seemed to think the whole thing lovely. "There weren't any animals, I believe…mostly just gnomes."

The word was out of his mouth before he could stop it; before he could backtrack, however, or perhaps whip out his wand and Obliviate her into senselessness, she said, confused again:

"Gnomes?"

"Just er—common household pests," he said hastily, cursing his stupidity. "Rats and whatnot—we er…called them gnomes."

It was one of the feeblest falsehoods he'd ever heard, and he knew it…yet, mercifully, she seemed to believe him, and nodded thoughtfully.

"Oh—for a second, I thought you meant those little statues were overrunning your garden," she said, lightly. He just managed to force a weak laugh.

"Yes—quite."

"Did you like it? Growing up there?"

His throat, tight as it was, seemed to grow tighter still…pressing his lips hard together to keep all the pain in, he replied:

"I-I rather did."

She seemed about to reply, and possibly inquire once again as to his health…but, thank the good heavens, she chose that moment to check the chinky little watch on her wrist—and suddenly leapt up, running a hand distractedly through her untidy hair.

"Oh, damn! Bollocks, I'm late! I'm so sorry, Perce, I've got to go—brilliant talking to you, though! If you like, you can ring me—just call the bar, I'm usually there in the afternoons. Bye, Perce! See you soon, yeah?"

"Of course," he lied, privately wondering how on earth he was to "ring" her. Was this some sort of obscene Muggle slang he had not heard?

He rather wouldn't put it past her; there was no telling with someone like Audrey.

And so she left, a flutter of hair and arms and those same dreadful trainers…

As soon as she left, the bartender, the same over-friendly man from the other night, leant in and said, in a confidential sort of whisper:

"Nice looking creetur, that Audrey, eh?"

Percy found it rather necessary to stare at the man and silently inquire whether or not he was a bit touched…Audrey was not ill-looking, perhaps, but certainly not what he found attractive in a woman. Where was the poise, the delicacy, the logic?

"That's a matter of opinion," he said gravely, and walked out of the filthy hovel, heading for another lonely meal at home, while something in him longed for the meatballs his father had promised.


	4. Chapter 4

_Shit! Sorry, sorry, sorry! I have just been really, really busy and updates as well as ideas have been scarce. Please accept this humble offering and enjoy! _

_PS. This story will continue, no matter how few and far between the updates. Sorry for the inconvenience!_

If one were to ask Percy Weasley at any given time what his ideal woman was, he would have given a very definite answer: Penelope Clearwater. They'd cut any romantic ties in his later years at Hogwarts, but that did not change the fact that Miss Clearwater was sensible, demure, and quite beautiful-three qualities Percy liked enormously in a woman. While he no longer harbored any _feelings_ for the lady, she still remained the standard by which he examined all other woman—when he examined them at all—and it had helped him form opinions of the few women of his acquaintance. If ever he was to marry—which he considered rather doubtful, given the lack of suitable women, and his corresponding lack of interest—he was determined it was to be somebody like his "boyhood flame". Somebody cool and logical, somebody who kept things neat and orderly, someone who had _propriety_, who knew when to speak and when to be silent.

Particularly when to be silent—a gift that Audrey girl was sadly lacking in. Good heavens.

And she expected him to "ring" her. Really now.

He would be quite complacent if he never saw the girl again—she was the last thing he needed, on top of everything else that was going horribly, horribly wrong. And she was certainly nothing like the women of his preference—the glaring abyss of a difference between she and the spandy neat Penelope was almost comical.

The best thing to do, he decided, would be to avoid venturing into that part of town altogether. A nice, clean break—no messiness about it.

-888888—

It was on the front of the _Prophet_—a meeker, much more reformed _Prophet_ ever since Voldemort's downfall—that he saw it. A picture of his only sister, Ginny, with an enormous smile on her face and a dampness in her eyes as she waved at the camera. It was, really, a rather charming photo, very moving—in fact, its only discernible flaw was the way his younger sibling turned and, with no hesitation or even a semblance of modesty, flung herself onto a startled Harry Potter and kissed him in a way that must have made Molly Weasley shake her head in sheer disapproval.

Percy frowned and, removing his glasses, polished them—a mere force of habit; they sparkled as it was—before taking another look. It was a rather difficult sight to swallow—his little sister, little, freckled Ginny, with both hands in Harry's hair and her arms about his neck. What a way to behave. He'd have to have a word with Harry about maintaining the chastity of his sister.

Then he recalled that he had not yet really reconciled himself with any of the family, and thus probably had no say on the chastity, maintained or otherwise, of said sister—and sighed.

Damn.

Setting the paper aside, he wondered just how long he would keep up the silence—how long he would go on without any familial companionship. Life seemed to stretch, interminable and bleak and gray, and he sighed again, and, for the millionth time, asked himself what the point was of it all.

-88888—

It was, he found, a good deal harder to avoid—or, really, to simply not see—Audrey Bentsworth than he had first thought. She seemed to be a ubiquitous fixture in the Muggle world, and popped up in the oddest of places—at random street corners, for example, or simply beneath a tree or at a table outdoors, doodling on a sheet of paper. Despite his efforts, he never _could_ seem to sneak away unnoticed; invariably, she would look up, meet his reluctant gaze and, oblivious to any unease on his part, cry "Hullo! How are you, Perce?"

And so he would be stuck with her until he could figure out how to be rid of her—which often took at least an hour.

After a while, he stopped trying.

He accepted the fact that, damnable as his luck was, he was to continually run into her, and he may as well do the thing right, as any gentleman would. So, almost against his will, he became acquainted with her.

He found her favorite color was magenta, and she was a "scribbler", as she termed it—that is, she was interested in all things artistic.

He found she adored cats and wanted terribly to have one, but her landlady forbid it.

He found she wore those dreadful red trainers because they reminded her of the ones her dad had given her as a child.

He found she was an uncanny mimic, and could impersonate just about anyone—including himself.

And, most bewildering of all, Percy Weasley found that he rather liked her, this odd, feather-brained, eccentric Muggle who frequently had paint in her hair or on her clothes as a result of her "scribbling".

He was still looking for his Penelope—that strong, cool, sensible woman who could handle every situation with ease—yet, for the time being, Audrey made as good a friend as any.

And really, perhaps all he needed at the moment was a friend.

His façade began to slip about a month after they had met.

He was still estranged from his family, still living in his apartment—and to him, it seemed as if this particular period of his life was a permanent fixture. Every day away from them just seemed to cement the feud, the awkwardness.

By now, he and Audrey were quite—friendly, and he almost rather liked their Friday evenings together in that dreadful, dingy bar, with the leering old barman and his toothless cronies. All of them seemed to regard Audrey as a sort of goddess in their midst, a pulchritudinous female made for their awed and affectionate gazes. Lately, he'd been coming to understand this more—Audrey, though still by no means a beauty, had a rather fetching way about her, when one became acquainted with her.

However, the fact remained that despite bein rather round the twist, she was a good deal too observant for her own good.

"Perce, what's that in your pocket?"

She pointed curiously to the long, slender stick poking from the pocket of his coat; at once, he flushed and shoved it out of sight.

Bugger.

"Nothing—something for work."

"What on earth do you need a stick at work for?" she inquired, and he knew from the smile in her voice that she didn't believe him.

"Er—this and that," he said quickly, trying desperately to think of a lie—any lie. The entire fate of the wizarding world was at stake. "We are currently of—of—look, never mind, I really shouldn't mention it until it's over, it's quite secret."

"Really?" she said, and now there was a definite interest in those big eyes. "That's brilliant; you must be quite important, Perce."

There was a time when a comment like this, even from an unknowing Muggle, would have made him beam with pride. Now, however, he only shrugged and murmured:

"Yes—well—I don't know about that. Let's talk about something else."

Mercifully, she obliged, though not without giving him a queer look…

"Have you spoken to your family yet?" she tried again, after a moment. His jaw hardened instinctively; the subject matter had gone from bad to worse.

"No."

"You should," she said simply, staring him straight in the eye. "It would do you good, Perce."

He found he had nothing to say to that—but that night when he returned home, he resolved for the umpteenth time to be careful of Audrey Bentworth.

She was, in more ways than one, entirely too observant for her own good.


End file.
